


Slinky, Untangled

by wisdomeagle



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Community: femslash_minis, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Ice Cream, Moving Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-06
Updated: 2005-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-17 21:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4682447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisdomeagle/pseuds/wisdomeagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Packing, distractions, and 4eva love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slinky, Untangled

**Author's Note:**

> Backup fic for ricktboy in the femslash_minis [Dawn round](http://www.livejournal.com/users/femslash_minis/10505.html). They wanted _ice cream sundaes, magic, no disapproving Buffy, and NC-17_. The slinky described was sitting in my lap when I originally posted this fic.

The end of an era: they're finally selling the house on Revello. Dawn's less sad about it than she thought she would be; after all, with the Hellmouth permanently, absolutely, not-kidding-this-time sealed and with UC Sunnydale, like Sunnydale High before it, rendered somewhat charred, there's little left for them here. It means packing, though, and they're finding all sorts of oddments -- way more frozen lemon juice than her mom could possibly have needed, extra toilet paper to last for years, some notebooks covered in hearts and badly drawn angel's wings, left over from Buffy's high school days.

"Look at this, Tara. 'Buffy and Angel 4eva' -- that's not how you spell 'forever,' is it? If Buffy ever complains about my spelling again..."

"I thought she kind of stopped complaining when you graduated in the top ten percent of your class."

"Yeah, you'd think, right? But no. There's still daily lecturing about spelling and grammar. Like Buffy knows what a gerund is."

"Daily over the phone?"

"Well, no. But I can feel her thinking it."

"Yeah." Tara nods sympathetically. "Sometimes being tuned into someone is more a curse than a blessing. Are you ditching all the notebooks?"

"Oh yes. If Buffy wanted them, she should have claimed them while she was still in the country. And while it's tempting to hold onto anything that might be useful to show to her future boyfriends, I'm big with the discarding today."

"It must be hard, getting rid of all this stuff. I mean, you've lived here for..."

"Almost ten years. More than enough time to accumulate a ton of crap I don't need. Know what I think? I should just torch Buffy's room. It's not like she's ever going to ask for," she picks up a random dresser object, "a Barbie-pink scrunchy. I mean, is she?"

"Probably not," Tara agrees. "I'll get some garbage bags from the kitchen."

"Cool. I'll, um, trash my big sister's room with her express permission."

When Tara returns, Dawn is sitting on Buffy's bed, untangling a slinky.

"I see that your work ethic hasn't improved since I helped you pass Chem 101."

"Which I totally only took because I'd need it for the magic stuff, so it's only fair that you helped me through it."

"Are we still having this argument?

"No," Dawn relents. "This thing is driving me nuts."

"The slinky?"

"Yeah." It's rainbow-colored and heart-shaped, which could either be deeply symbolic or bumper sticker obvious.

"What was your sister doing with a gay slinky?"

"Getting it into a horrible tangle. Look at it! It's like, totally twisted."

"So Buffy had a kinky gay slinky?"

"Stop, Tara. Do you have any idea how gross it is to think about my sister and 'kinky' in the same sentence?"

"No, actually. Do you want to explain it to me?"

" _No_."

"Leave the slinky alone; I found three cartons of ice cream in the freezer."

"Three? That's not possible. Xander was here just last weekend, remember? To fix the wall for potential buyers? How could he not have eaten it?"

"Well, it's possible the ice cream appeared there after a quick trip down to the convenience store."

"I guess I've been wrapped up in slinky-untangling, huh?"

"Kinda. What would you say to ice cream sundaes now and then more packing later? We could tackle the supply room, get the herbs and things in boxes."

"I'd say you're probably trying to cancel packing for the rest of the day so we can make sweet girlylove on my big sister's bed."

"That's really not true." Tara turns to make sure Dawn's following her downstairs. "I was thinking more the kitchen floor."

"Think anyone's ever made love there?"

Tara gets suddenly quiet. 

"Sorry. I... I guess I forgot it used to be you two before it was us two."

Tara shakes her head. "It's been so long. I'm okay now... ice cream?"

"Yep. Did you happen to buy peanuts and whipped cream on the non-existent trip to the convenience store?"

"Maybe... what about the couch?"

"For sundaes?"

"I was thinking more for after-sundae, um..."

"Sex?"

"Cuddling."

"Sex."

"You sure?"

"Course." She pulls the freezer door open and takes out three bags of veggies plus the box of vanilla yum.

"Um, broccoli on your ice cream? Starting a new diet? Or has Xander influenced your food choices for the worst?"

"Nah. They're joining Buffy's diaries and old perfume at the top of Sunnydale Dump. Want to try with the slinky?"

"I've never understood these things -- no, give me more ice cream. I need to get my blood sugar up."

"They're bouncy, they're colorful, and this one is as gay as an all-girls'-school. I like it."

"It tangles so easily. I mean, you twist it, and suddenly it's a mess."

"Untangling them is half the fun. And when you get it right, and all the loops spill out? It's like... it's like the precipice of a spell."

"No." Tara smiles her disbelief prettily, puts down the slinky and picks up the whipped cream. "Really?"

"Really. It's like -- it's nirvana-esque."

"The band?"

"The Buddhist kind. Hey, you done with that whipped cream? We should save some."

"For cuddling?"

"Yeah. Cuddling. But first you'll have to play with the slinky."

"And then, when you do get them untangled, they're not the same. They get these little white patches where the plastic's weak, and they don't fit together as smoothly."

"But it's not broken." She takes a slow bite of ice cream that shocks her a little. Cold. "It's still, you know, ultimately slinky-ish."

"I don't like having things you can't mend," Tara says softly. "It worries me. I could never play with china dolls when I was little, because I was afraid I'd break them."

"It's not _broken_. Just bent. Things bend when you have them for too long. You forget to be careful. You're playing with it, get careless, fidget a little while you're watching television, twist the slinky, and then that's it? Not worth having any more?"

"Putting things back together is hard," Tara says. "You can't just, you know, do a spell. You have to work."

"Well, after you finish your ice cream, you can work on the slinky some more."

"After I finish my ice cream, I'm planning a distraction."

"We'd taste like vanilla."

"Vanilla can be okay."

Dawn takes a final spoonful of ice cream and slips it into Tara's mouth, a signal that it's okay to stop talking now. They have routines, even for sex. Especially for sex. They put their dishes in the sink to soak, Dawn puts her hand on Tara's hip, and they kiss. Surprisingly sweet, deliciously vanilla-and-cream. She tips forward to get better leverage, kisses down into Tara. She feels sometimes like she could break her. Her innate height and the strength that comes from the training exercises she hasn't abandoned, the leftover gangliness of her adolescence. She doesn't need to stand on tiptoe to make Tara's breathing jerk and hitch, to press a kiss into her lips.

"Not the couch?"

"God, no," she says, surprised that they're not kissing anymore. She fixes that, slides her tongue back on top of Tara's. She can taste vanilla, can lick flecks of peanuts from Tara's mouth, sense the cinnamon-sharpness of Tara's magic. Her hand isn't on Tara's hip anymore.

She tries not to flail when one of Tara's hands finds her ass, tries not to squirm when the other hand finds her pussy. She ought to be strong, unbreakable. Tara should be able to finger her all she wants, should be wanting _her_. Tara shouldn't let her come first. She's the strong one. She _really_ is. If she's not, then she's a little girl being taken care of, then she really is too young for Tara, really is too young for a serious relationship, really is too young to have a full-grown woman kneeling on her kitchen floor, face pressed against her unzipped jeans, tonguing her and whispering scary soft love poems in a voice she can't hear.

She slides slowly down the cabinets, catching her shirt on door-handles, and Tara follows her down, not missing a stroke. Tara is _good_. Good and smooth and cinnamony with power. Tara's mouth tastes like vanilla and come, and the kitchen smells like plastic garbage bags and cardboard boxes, like arousal and like Buffy's old perfume. She lets go of the kiss, catches sight of the tangled slinky on the table, slides down to the floor, almost clunking her head. But Tara's hand is under her, almost supernaturally fast, and Tara won't let her fall. Tara kisses her, kisses her breasts and slides slowly down for more muff-diving and _oh_. She opens her mouth and can't close it, can't stop moving to get more and faster.

"Yum," she thinks she says, then dissolves into "Mmmm...."

"Good?"

"Goo--oooo! D."

"Good." She can _feel_ Tara grinning against her tummy. "Excellent."

"Hey," she murmurs when she finally pries her eyes open and feels slightly less run-over.

"What's up, sweetie?" Tara sounds downright chipper. She's pleased with herself, darn her.

"The slinky."

"It's fixed. Huh. I wonder how that happened?"

"You're evil."

"I try."

"Was it magic?"

"I'll never tell."

"We should finish packing."

"We could..."

"More cuddling?"

"Yeah," Tara smiles. "More cuddling."


End file.
